The Bridge Between Two WorldsHere Be Dragons?
by ShadowedRainbow
Summary: Yeah. You read that right, The Avengers (well ONE Avenger at least) in Skyrim. Wonder how that is going to work? Care to find out with me?
1. Chapter 1

The Bridge Between Two Worlds (Alternate Title: Here Be… Dragons?)

**_**A note from Shado. Yeah, so this is a product of my bored imagination. Scary thing that, isn't it? I don't know if anyone will like it and if not, well that's ok. I'm having fun with my two latest obsessions, Bruce and Skyrim. My apologies for delving into the land of cliché, I usually try to avoid that if possible… but couldn't this time. I don't own any thing here except my OC.**_**

Chapter One: The Land of Cliché or What the Hell is with the purple lightning?

Violet ran the pre-flight checks efficiently, if a little automatically. She was looking forward to the coming flight immensely. Unlike the other pilots here at SHIELD, she actually liked flying Dr. Banner. They, of course, all thought she was crazy. After all, who in their right mind wanted to fly the ticking time bomb that was Hulk? Their assumption of her insanity suited her just fine- it meant she got to see the quiet, rather quaintly shy scientist frequently. Sometimes, when he wasn't too tired from whatever he'd been involved in, they would spend the flight just talking. Discussing everything under the sun, from his latest research, to Tony Stark's latest row with Fury, or they would talk about nothing at all. Just sit and enjoy the peace of the open sky. Other times, he would fall asleep, trusting her to get him home safely.

Those were the times that she cherished most; the unfailing trust that he showed to her, and her alone. For he never slept with another pilot at the controls; or so she'd been told by the few pilots that flew him. Upon hearing that, she'd made certain, that she was always available to fly him. She'd wheedled and wangled; whined and cajoled everyone she could until she was assigned as his permanent pilot. That accomplished, she then set about getting him a private jet. Quinjets were great and all, don't get her wrong on that. But the Doc needed someplace he could relax, lie down and sleep. A quin was not equipped for that. She cornered Stark one day, when the Doc was exceptionally exhausted and merely pointed it out to him… there was nothing more that needed doing. The next time she flew the Doc home, it was in a small, elite jet with the Doc comfortably ensconced in a recliner, sound asleep.

"Control, this is Echo Victor One-Niner," she radioed. "Requesting a weather brief."

"Echo Victor One-Niner, be advised that NOAA is tracking storm fronts across the Midwest."

"Roger that. Tower this is Echo Victor One-Niner, clearance to switch to flight plan Charlie Bravo?"

"Flight plan Charlie Bravo confirmed Echo Victor One-Niner."

Checks done, flight plan filed, she settled in to wait for the Doc. She watched the flight crews scurrying along the Helicarrier's deck carrying out their tasks with brutal efficiency. As she waited she hummed a tune that was running through her mind, idly pouring a cup of coffee for herself and making certain that she'd remembered to stock the Doc's favorite tea. The ping of her private comm broke her song.

"V?" Maria's voice whispered in her ear.

"Maria, what's up?" She sat up straight. "Is the Doc ok?"

"V, it was a bad one." Maria said slowly. "Just…take care of him."

"Got it. Thanks for the heads up, Maria." She said softly, closing her eyes in sympathy.

"Anytime, V." Hill signed off. Violet left the cockpit and jogged down the flight line. If Maria was this concerned, she thought, then Doc must be in a bad way. She reached the safety gate and stood waiting. She'd ventured into the Helicarrier but didn't want to risk missing him. It wasn't too much longer before she could see him, slowly walking down the corridor, his carry bag slug over his shoulder. Just from the way he walked, she knew that Maria was right to be concerned.

"Here, Doc, let me get that for ya," she said softly as he got closer. She took the carry bag in hand and fell into step next to him. It was a testament to his exhaustion that he didn't even register the transfer. It took him a few steps before he even acknowledged her presence.

"Hey, Violet," he mumbled. "Thanks." She could see the remnants of bruises on his face; his skin was pale and waxy.

"Hey, Doc." She replied. "Rough one?" He nodded slightly, swaying on his feet. "Thought so, come on. I've got tea for you if you're up to it." She kept her voice low and gentle. "Hope you don't mind, but we're going to have a longer flight than usual. Major storm fronts between us and the Tower."

"Sokay." His reply was muted. She frowned slightly as he almost stumbled. She laid a hand on his arm.

"Come on, Doc, just follow me." She took her time guiding him across the busy flight deck, ignoring the looks from the crews.

At the jet, she tossed his carry bag into a rack and helped him settle in. "I'll do my best to keep it nice and smooth for ya, Doc. You just get some rest." She watched as he fumbled the clasp of the seatbelt and then with a heartfelt sigh of commiseration, fastened it for him. She grabbed the pillow and blanket from the overhead storage. He took the pillow from her with a weary grateful smile.

"Thanks, Violet." She smiled at him, tucking the blanket in place. "Glad to see you."

"Me too Doc. I'll leave the pit door open, if you need anything just sing out ok?" she said as his eyes closed. He nodded slightly already drifting off.

#

Once she got the jet to cruising altitude, she set Gilbert the auto pilot. She checked on the Doc to find him sound asleep. _Didn't even make it to take off,_ she thought with a frown. _Doesn't anyone notice how tired he is?_ She loosened his seatbelt and tucked the blanket back in. _Poor Doc._ Satisfied that he was as comfortable as he could be, she slid back into her jumpseat

Completing her check in, she settled back for the long flight. Gilbert had things well in hand and now all she needed to do was input any course corrections. With a contented sigh, she poured herself some coffee from her thermos and added sugar and cream. The Doc's thermos of tea she kept in her ditty bag slung over the back of her seat. Words to a song floated through her mind, and keeping an eye on her passenger she began to sing softly.

"What's the miracle, if life itself is not? Who am I to praise his worth with a hymn? I may stumble over words that I forgot, just as life itself surely begins…"

Her song floated on the air of the jet, Bruce shifted in his sleep, turning toward the melody. _Deep in the darkness that was his world, Hulk stirred to life. Slowly, cautiously, not wanting to be shoved back, he crept forward past the slumbering consciousness of Banner. The music was soothing and he liked it. He crept ever closer drawn to the melody. _ Eyes snapped open and his head turned to the cockpit where the singer was.

Violet knew the instant he woke. She kept singing until the last note was ended before turning around completely. "You liked that one?" She asked. Two eerie green eyes glowed at her from Banner's face. Slowly Hulk nodded. "Want another?" Again Hulk nodded. "Only if you promise to let Dr. Banner rest." She said firmly, waiting for the answer. Hulk thought for a moment and then nodded once more. "Ok."

She made a slight course correction, took a sip of coffee, all the while keeping one eye on Hulk. "Ready?" She asked knowing the answer. His nod was emphatic and she had to hide a grin. "Wandering shepherd, wander no more. Wandering shepherd, wander no more…"

_Hulk let his eyes drift closed, the music soothing the rage that was his soul, slowly sinking back into the dark once more. _"Pretty bird," he growled softly as he receded into his own slumber.

Violet heard the softly growled words and grinned to herself. She didn't stop singing, letting the music soothe both her passengers. She'd been startled the first time this happened; but now she was comfortable with Hulk's presence. He only appeared when the Doc was totally exhausted; drawn out by her songs. She probably should have stopped after the first time, but he hadn't done anything but listen, so she hadn't said anything to anyone. After the third time, she'd actually managed to 'talk' with Hulk, finding that while he didn't speak well, he could speak. It was rather intriguing to talk to him and she enjoyed their "conversations" such as they were. It was even more intriguing to discover that the Doc had no memory of them at all.

"Echo Victor One-Niner," the radio crackled, startling her for a moment. "Be advised that the National Weather Service has upgraded the storms to severe."

"Echo Victor One-Niner, roger." She answered. "How are we looking?"

"Echo Victor One- Niner, tower suggests course correction to heading +7 East."

"Roger that, Tower, correcting +7 East." She fed the new heading into the compnav, double checking the course and her fuel. "Tower, be advised that the new course will mean a refuel at StarkTower."

"Roger, that Echo Victor One-Niner. Refuel at StarkTower."

"Problem?" The voice at her shoulder was surprising.

"Oh? Hey Doc. Thought you were sleeping." She said turning her head. Banner slid into the co-pilot's seat next to her, looking at the star filled night around them. She was pleased to note that he looked much improved from before.

"Anything to worry about?" he asked.

"Nah, got it covered." She cocked her head toward him. "Just those storms I told you about."

He frowned searching his memory, then smiled slightly. "I remember."

"You should go back and try to sleep some more. We're going to be a little later than planned."

"I'm awake now," he said simply. He scanned the sky around them. "I don't see any storms."

"Over that way," she said pointing to her left. "About 200 klicks to the west." She twisted in her seat, reaching into her ditty bag. "Well, if you won't go back to sleep, would you like some tea?" She fished around for a moment and then with a soft grin, pulled the thermos out, waving it at him. "It's your favorite."

Banner took the thermos with a slight chuckle and head shake. "Violet, you surprise me constantly."

"Why?" she asked honestly. "Can't a girl remember a guy's favorite tea?"

He cracked the lid and inhaled deeply. "Guess you can." He carefully poured a cup and sipped it with a sigh of contentment. "Shouldn't you be flying the plane instead of drinking coffee?"

She chuckled. "That's why we have Gilbert." She pointed her cup at the panel of lights. "Autopilot extraordinaire." She sipped her coffee. "Don't tell me, Romanov never told you about Gilbert?"

"No, never mentioned a Gilbert."

"Sheesh." Violet rolled her eyes. "Probably makes you guys think she's doing all the flying herself, right?" She settled back, eyes on Banner. "Let you in on a little secret, Doc? I can guarantee she's snoozing and Gilbert's doing the flying." Bruce chuckled softly.

"You're probably right." He agreed.

"I know I'm right." She crowed with a giggle.

"How long until we reach Manhattan?" he asked after a bit.

She considered for a moment. "Another couple hours, thanks to those storms." Something flashed off to her left, pulling her attention that way. "Did you…?" There was another flash; a strange sickly purple glow that lit the sky for a moment. "What the hell?"

"What is it, Violet?" Bruce asked leaning forward trying to see around her.

"Dunno, Doc." She said as yet more flashes could be seen. They were moving closer with each second, lighting up the sky. "Hang on a sec Doc." She reached for the radio. "Echo Victor One-Niner to Tower…." Static crackled. "Echo Victor One-Niner, to Tower, do you copy?" Nothing.

As the odd flashes danced closer, clouds began to overtake the stars and the wind picked up. Violet's fingers danced over the control panel adjusting the radio and disabling Gilbert. A violent gust of wind caught the jet making it shake.

"Doc, now might be a good time to buckle up," she said correcting the jet's pitch. "I think those storms found us." Bruce did as she suggested quickly. Before he'd even gotten the belt in place, the storm was upon them.

Towering thunderheads blocked everything around them and the bizarre purple lightning rent the air. The jet bucked and tossed like paper in the winds that came from every direction. She fought to keep the jet from being slammed to the ground. _Remember people, _Director Fury's voice echoed in her mind;_ Dr. Banner does __**not**__ handle stress well._ She risked taking her attention off her instruments for a moment, sneaking a glance at her silent passenger. His face was white, eyes firmly closed, his hands clenching the armrests and leaving dents.

"Now would be a good time to practice your breathing, Doc," she ground out, fighting the storm and the plane. He nodded, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

Her instruments were useless; the compnav was flashing off and on, the backup radar nothing but snow… she was flying blind. The lightning blinded her with each flash and she was just thankful they weren't flying through mountains right now. Some part of her registered the fact that there was no sound. She'd flown through plenty of storms in her career but never through a silent one.

It felt like an eternity, her arms burned with strain, sweat chilled her skin. The purple lightning made her eyes burn and her stomach twist. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Doc; his face still pale and set, but he seemed to be in control for the moment, though he did look as nauseous as she felt.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The jet burst through the cloud wall into the clear. "Yes!" she breathed heavily, a wild grin on her face. "Doc? Doc, you ok? We made it!"

He nodded exhaling slowly. "Yes." There was a slight quaver in his voice but he sounded all right. "Let's just… not do that again."

"I agree." She said reaching for the radio. For an instant, it didn't register… but then it did. "Holy!" she cried, yanking back on the stick. She slammed open Banner's seatbelt with one hand, the other pulling the jet into a steep climb. "Out, Doc! Get out now!" she screamed. His reaction was instantaneous- he bolted for the back of the plane and the escape hatch. She managed to hit the red release button that would open it for him as the cockpit filled with white hot flame. She screamed again, her arms over her face.

Her scream hit him and he reacted. He was half way to the hatch when Hulk came roaring to the fore. The transformation was quick. But instead of bounding through the open hatch, Hulk hesitated. He turned back toward the cockpit.

"Pretty bird," he growled and scooped her, seat and all into his arms. As the jet began to disintegrate around him, Hulk jumped.

_** The songs Violet sings to Hulk in this chapter are Anthem by Kamelot and Wandering Shepherd by Dan Fogelberg. Both songs can be found in their entirety on youtube. I didn't write them, I'm not stealing them... she's merely singing along with the "radio" in her head... like everyone does when driving.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_****A note from Shado. Well, I'm pleased to see that you guys are willing to give this idea a shot. I'm still not quite sure how this story is going to develop but I'm getting clearer ideas as I continue it. To you new readers, welcome to my insanity; its a scary place that you've ventured into. In case you're wondering; I've always pictured Hulk as being more intelligent that he was ever given credit for... it only makes sense to me, since he's still Bruce. So, I'm going to go with that for the foundation of his personality. I don't see him as just pure rage... more like pain and rage coupled with intellect. I just hope I can convey that in the future installments. So... here you go... let the insanity commence. DOVAHKIIN!** **_

Chapter Two: Crab Salad Anyone?

Hulk hit the ground running. He kept Pretty Bird cradled against his chest as he bounded through the thick trees. A light snow was falling but it didn't bother him in the least. He leapt over a boulder and down toward the river he could see through the trees. There was a road ahead, but he ignored it, wanting to get as far from his landing point as possible. He was a creature of instinct; and all his instincts told him this was _not safe_. His nose wrinkled with the stark odor of burning wood and flesh. Those two scents spurred him to move away; toward the mountains across the river. As he waded across, he could see _something _ close to the pinnacle of the mountain in front of him. He scowled at it, his head cocked, considering.

Creatures moved in the trees on the banks of the river but he didn't sense any threat from them; _grass eaters_, he thought. In his arms, Pretty Bird moaned, a soft pain filled noise. His scowl deepened and mind made up, he began the climb to the structure on the mountain. He moved cautiously, not from fear or trepidation, for he didn't know those feelings; but because he didn't wish to risk any further harm to his Pretty Bird. A gentle wind stirred the leaves under foot, carrying the distant smell of fire. It was just a bare hint of it now and he grunted in satisfaction. About half way up the mountain, the rank smell of _big cat_ tickled his nose and he tightened his hold on Pretty Bird.

There was a bastion of boulders protecting the structure but a goat track to the right gave him access. From somewhere in his instinct driven mind, he had the presence of mind to approach it slowly. He paused; sniffing the air cautiously, looking for any possible threat. It didn't smell occupied; and he couldn't see any sign that it was inhabited. The smell of dust and elements meant that it had been abandoned for quite some time.

It was a tall structure, made of carved stone. Moss and lichen covered the stone, giving it a bit of camouflage against the backdrop of the mountainside. The remnants of a cobbled road, well overgrown led through a broken archway, to what had been the central entrance. But time had taken its toll on this place; the cobbles were missing, cracked and broken. The archway was in dire peril of collapse. He stepped slowly onto the portico, keeping Pretty Bird protected by his bulk. She moaned again and his sense of urgency grew. Yet he wasn't going to just rush in; not when he had her to protect.

A few insects scurried away from him, the only signs of life that he could see. Two doors, equal to his height were cracked open and with a grunt of effort, he pushed them the rest of the way. The interior of the tower was in better repair than the outside. There was the detritus of its previous occupants scattered around to which he paid no attention. He carried Pretty Bird down the flight of circular stairs to the lower floor. There was another door but it was firmly closed. It was here that he laid his burden gently down.

He crouched at her side, dark eyes scanning her intently. It was obvious that she was fairly badly injured. He could see the burns on her arms and part of her face. Her clothing had protected her somewhat, but not nearly enough. He shuffled his feet, swaying with indecision. It was so much easier to smash things, than to fix things. He thought feverishly, trying to _remember_ how to fix things. He knew that he could; he just couldn't remember how. He growled in agitation; frustrated that his mind wouldn't cooperate. His agitation growing, the need to smash became greater. His hands fisted and tightened, every iota of his existence craved the release that destruction would bring. But somewhere in him, he found the ability to keep from lashing out.

_Banner fix. _ The thought floated up from somewhere. He ground his teeth at that. _Banner fix Pretty Bird._ That would mean relinquishing himself to his other half; the half that was weak. _Not weak,_ _just different._ He didn't like giving up control, which was plain and simple. Didn't like be confined in the dark depths of the hell that was Banner's subconscious. _But Pretty Bird __**needs**__ Banner. _ His frustration boiled over and he smashed one fist into the stone wall, turning it into powder. His eyes fell on Pretty Bird, her injuries warring with his memories of her singing to him; the times she'd talked with _him_ not Banner. How she'd treated him just like a _person_ not a mindless creature.

"Pretty Bird," he grunted, crouching over her once more. He stretched on massive hand out to her, being very careful not to injure her further. "Banner fix Pretty Bird." He nodded emphatically; reaching into his own mind, searching for the part of him that was Banner. It was hard; not something he was used to doing; to actively seek out his other side. It took a lot of hard thought before he found where Banner slept in his own mind. With a sense of urgency he grabbed onto the slumbering psyche and forced it to wake. As Banner took over, Hulk roared at him, _Fix Pretty Bird!_

_#_

Bruce regained consciousness with a jolt. Confusion reigned supreme as he blinked blearily at his surroundings; his last coherent, unclouded memory was of the storm and Violet screaming for him to get out. From the aches and pains, he knew he'd transformed, the usual sense of exhaustion hovering around the edges of his mind.

"Where the hell?" he wondered out loud trying to get his bearings; to sort through the clouded thoughts that meant Hulk had been active. The structure he was in bore zero resemblance to anything he'd ever seen before; not even in his few visits to Thor's home in Asgard had he seen construction like this. The only familiar thing in the building was Violet, injured…memory clicked. Hulk's last roared command of _Fix Pretty Bird _echoed loudly. With an exclamation he bent over her; the smell of her burned flesh making him ill.

He took it in at a glance, severe burns on the lower face, both forearms, shoulders…. Her jumpsuit appeared to have protected her torso, but that meant little. Facial burns were life threatening at best; they usually indicated damage to the lungs, esophagus… the list of possible injuries was extensive.

"Hell," he swore softly as he did his assessment. He had no medications, nothing he could use. This made him realize that he was naked; yet again. Not for the first time, he wished Tony would get off his ass and come up with clothing that would survive the transformation. He stood, turning slowly around, eyes searching the room they were in. There were _things _scattered around; odds and ends of someone's life. A cup here, an overturned bowl, candles showing drips of wax; odd pieces that looked like some form of bronze… in a corner made by the curved wall and a small bookcase, he saw something that looked like a chest.

With a frown of hope, he knelt next to it, wincing slightly as the cold stone bit into his bare knees. He tried the lid but it was locked. _Why am I not surprised?_ He thought. He picked up one of the pieces of bronze and banged it against the lock, hoping it would give. But several strikes later, he gave that up as a bad idea. The lock wasn't going to just break.

"Ok, I guess I can try to pick it…" he said softly to himself. He'd picked locks before, back before the Avengers; this shouldn't be too hard. He rifled through the stuff on the shelf, a few dried plants, an odd bluish colored gemstone, and a tattered, moldy book; looking for something to use as a pick. Not finding anything there, he began a systematic search of the room; worry spurring him to an almost frantic pace. Finally, under the stairs, he found a small, leather satchel that had definitely seen better days.

Opening it, he found some vials containing liquid, oddly lettered; dried flowers and some dried mushrooms and, wonder of wonders, lock picking tools. He set the other stuff aside, grasping the crude picks with a sense of triumph. There were only five, so he'd have to be careful; but he thought he could do it.

Biting his lip, he inserted the pick, moving it slowly until he felt something give. The lock moved a bit then froze again. He kept adjusting the pick's angle, the lock giving a little more movement. Then with a sharp snap, the first pick broke.

"Damn," he swore, dropping the now useless tool. He tried again, knowing he was getting closer. Finally with a soft click, two picks later, the lock released. He resisted the urge to whoop at his success. He opened the chest and felt relief bloom in his chest.

Clothing, folded neatly, was on top; he laid that aside for later. Underneath, he found more books, more vials, some strangely minted gold pieces, and weapons. Those he hefted out with care; the metal not something he recognized at all, but the craftsmanship was excellent. There was also a small pouch that upon opening contained a ruby and more dried flowers.

The clothing was a man's, well cared for, but in a style that faintly resembled something from the 11th century Viking era. "Better than being naked," he said to himself as he dressed. The clothing consisted of a tunic, pants and soft shoes; not a very good fit, but serviceable. His needs taken care of; he returned to Violet's side.

Thankfully, she was still unconscious. He tested her for fever, but her skin was cool; not clammy. He scowled; by rights she should be in shock; but there were no signs. Her pulse was strong and steady, her breathing easy… still, those burns needed to be cleaned and dressed to prevent infection. First things first; she needed to be made comfortable. Getting her out of the jump seat was arduous at best; moving her made her groan in pain and he just thanked whatever deity he could that she stayed _out_ for it. He used the worn leather satchel under her head, the remains of his original clothing as padding between her and the floor.

Next he set about starting a fire, using some of the debris that littered the room. Lighting it was easy enough; luck had found them in keeping her ditty bag secured to the jump seat. He felt a little guilty about rifling it; it was after all her personal bag. He felt somewhat less guilty upon finding the small med kit with basic supplies. Clean, sterile bandages, some antibiotic cream, light pain meds… nothing earth shattering, but they would help the situation until he could find better supplies.

"Water," he said to the stillness. "Gonna need water." He didn't want to leave her alone, but water was definitely something they both needed. He picked up the discarded bowl, eyeing it for cracks; part of his mind registered that it was made out of the same strange bronze like metal and was actually very well constructed. He debated for only a moment about taking a weapon before deciding on the dagger that he'd found in the chest. The weight actually felt a little comforting in his hand; he just hoped he'd remembered the lessons that Nat and Clint had attempted to give him. Of course, he smiled a little self-deprecatingly, he'd probably _not_ need it… but it paid to be cautious.

With a worried glance at Violet, he headed up the circular stairs. He hoped he could find water quickly; there was no guarantee that Hulk had even thought of something like that. The huge doors gave him a moment's pause. The craftsmanship was incredible, they seemed to have been cast from one mold, intricate designs making them works of art. Again, something he'd never seen before, he traced them with one hand, wondering just where the hell they were. Stepping through them, he froze in awe and shock.

"Definitely _not_ Kansas," he breathed taking in the view on the portico. Mountains; taller than even the Alps, ringed the valley below. Tall trees that looked like pines dotted the slope, boulders strewn here and there as if tossed by someone. He could see the distant sparkle of water at the base of their sanctuary's perch and what appeared to be a dirt path or possibly a road. Wildlife ambled through the grass with multicolored wildflowers bobbing and weaving in their passage. Standing on the portico, he was momentarily overcome with a sense of _peace_; an odd feeling to be sure, since obviously they were in serious trouble.

Clutching the bowl in one hand and the other holding the dagger, he headed down the mountainside toward the river he could see. There were birds singing in the tree tops, small animals scurried into the underbrush at his approach. He startled several deer in the grasses; actually it was a toss up who was more startled- him or the deer. He thought he heard something in the distance, but wasn't sure what it was. It sounded like the scream of a jet engine, but a quick scan of the sky didn't reveal a jet. Still, he kept a wary eye out for whatever had made the sound.

Reaching the road without incident, he peered cautiously to and fro, eyes noting that it looked to be well traveled, a mélange of hoof prints and footprints giving him the idea that perhaps this might be the Appalachians and the road part of that famous trail. That would explain some of this; he'd never been to those mountains thus couldn't be expected to recognize the area. Still that didn't explain the odd clothing or anything else he'd found… but then, he had a thought, a rather random one. A memory of Tony talking animatedly about some type of game called a larp… could it be one of those game things?

"Well that would explain this stuff," he muttered stepping out onto the road. It was possible, he supposed, that the structure had been built and furnished for one of those games. _If_ that was the case, he continued the train of thought as he walked from the road to the river's edge; _then there's got to be a town near by._ A town meant phones, possibly a doctor or hospital…

He almost stepped on it, so deep was his concentration. The only warning was a rattling click and a blur of movement at his feet. Startled he stumbled back; bowl dropping from his hand as the biggest crab he'd ever seen popped out of the mud at the river's edge. For several heartbeats, all he could do was stare. The _thing_ was huge; at least four feet across with pincers three feet long that were waving menacingly at him. The eye stalks tracked the bowl's fall and the crab, _if that's what it is, _he thought wildly, darted after it, drawn by the movement. But its feint missed the bowl and as he moved back, the crab turned its attention to him; scuttling forward more rapidly than something that size should. He barely managed to dodge the attack, swinging wildly at the monster with his dagger.

As the metal blade met with the pincer, the crab scuttled back just a bit, but recovered quickly. Bruce managed to parry another pincer, and reached for Hulk; but for some reason the Big Guy didn't respond. _Shit,_ he cursed. His energy reserves were too low for a transformation it seemed. It happened on a rare occasion; the battle from early in the day coupled with the emergency had worn him out. He dodged again, swinging the blade once more. This time there was a satisfying crack as the dagger caught the joint behind the pincer, partially severing it. The crab-creature screamed shrilly but continued its advance. A branch caught at his foot, almost dumping him to the ground, which he knew would be a really bad thing. Barely recovering his balance, he grabbed the branch with his free hand, jamming it into the advancing pincer. The edges bit into the wood and stuck; for which he was grateful. With a snarl that was faintly reminiscent of Hulk, he stabbed the dagger as hard as he could into the crack between the carapace and under shell of the crab. His grimace of distaste was slightly feral as the crab bucked against the blade. He twisted it, shoving it deeper. With a fading shriek the creature went limp.

He pulled the blade out, eyes still on the barely twitching crab-thing. "Well," he said softly suddenly giddy. "Looks like we're having crab salad for dinner."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Let it Burn

Bruce kept one eye on the dead crab-thing as he retrieved the bowl. He was relieved to see that it was undamaged. He sidestepped the dead and knelt cautiously at the water's edge. The river water was oddly clear; a deep crystal blue in which he could see fish swimming. With the exception of one or two, he could easily identify them. He made a mental note to find some way of crafting a fishing line; he'd only been joking about eating the crab-thing. _Was it even edible?_ He wondered as he scooped water into the bowl. He took a few moments to survey the area, looking for any signs of a cabin or other civilization but the curve of the river and the mountains blocked his view.

He tucked the dagger back through his waistband, cradling the bowl of water carefully. He kicked at the corpse as he passed it with a satisfied smirk. He couldn't explain it, but it felt good knowing that he'd killed it _without_ Hulk. Crossing the road, he started the trek back up to the tower. The experience with the thing made him even more cautious than before. He took great care to pay attention to his surroundings, moving a little more slowly than he had before.

Reaching the grassy slope, he paused to catch his breath. The waving heads of bright red flowers beckoned to him and without thinking he plucked some of them, tucking them next to the dagger as he walked. A little further on, he did the same with the blue ones. And the purple ones just beyond the blue. As he subconsciously reached for another bunch, he froze in place. _What the hell am I doing? Picking flowers?_ But he couldn't stop; the urge to pick them was stronger than his need to get back to Violet. Giving the flowers a disconcerted look, he forced himself to pass them by; quickening his pace to get through the small field as quickly as possible.

With a sense of relief, he strode onto the portico and slipped through the door. He leaned back against it for a moment, breathing heavily. _What the hell is going on?_ He tried to ignore the flowers tucked into his pants; he'd deal with that odd compulsion later. Right now, he needed to take care of Violet. He took the stairs quickly, suddenly afraid that she… _Don't go there, Banner._ To his immense relief she was still there and still breathing. He set the bowl of water next to her, dropping to his knees. He reached for her to check her pulse.

It was still strong for which he was grateful. Carefully he lifted her arm, his intent to clean the burns as gently as possible. What he saw though resembled nothing like he'd seen on his first examination. Before he'd gone for water, he'd estimated her injuries at third degree, but now, unless he'd totally lost his mind; they were second degree… _Impossible._ He wiped a weary hand over his eyes and examined her again.

"Am I _that_ tired?" he whispered. Could he have mistaken their severity? Granted second degree burns were just as bad as third, considering their surroundings… but he could have sworn they were worse than this. Even as he considered, the burns on her face seemed to be fading. "What the hell is going on?"

He rocked back on his heels, eyes wide, brain scrambling madly to make sense of what he was seeing. He felt panic begin to build in his chest. Something, everything, was just not adding up. The storm, this place… and now Violet's disappearing injuries? The urge to cackle madly was very strong. A small hysterical giggle did manage to escape; the sound rather loud in the quiet of the tower. Violet's eyes moved, lids flicking open then closed. Grabbing on to his sanity with both hands, he carefully, hesitantly, touched the almost faded burns on her face. The skin, while still rather discolored, was soft and even; no signs of keloids; other than the discoloration, he would never have known she'd been injured.

"Either you're a mutant, Violet, or…" He trailed off, almost afraid to voice what his thought was. _We can't possibly still be on Earth,_ he finished silently. _And this isn't Asgard… so? Where the hell are we?_ His eyes fell on the books that he'd pulled from the chest earlier. _Maybe, just maybe, I can find something in one of those._ He bypassed the tattered moldy tome in favor of the newer looking ones. His selection was a well kept reddish book. It was leather bound, the binding and leather showing that it had been read frequently. He opened it. Almost immediately, he felt _something_ like a cross between a thump on the back and a twist in the gut. His vision swam, dark spots dancing in and out for a few seconds. Bruce blinked to clear his eyes and when he could see once more, the lines of script read _A Game at Dinner_. There was a note from the publisher that he scanned quickly, more interested in what the meat of the book could tell him. From what he could tell it appeared to be a long letter describing someone's experience at a rather macabre dinner party.

"That's no help," he muttered setting it aside. The next entitled _A Dance in Fire_, though, could be confirmation of his suspicion; or quite possibly a work of utter mad fiction, he couldn't decide. Giving it up, he crossed back to Violet. Her burns had completed faded, all that remained was the faintest of discolorations and she appeared to be sleeping. Exhaustion tugged at him; two transformations in one day, the fight with the crab-thing… he needed sleep. He stoked the fire with more fuel and then headed up the stairs to see about securing the open doors. To his surprise, the sun had set while he was reading.

It was then that he knew the enormity of their predicament. In the night sky, an aurora danced among the stars… and around two moons that shone brightly. As he stared at them, a shadow passed over the larger of them. Large wings beat at the sky, the body long and serpentine. The roar that he'd thought the scream of a jet engine echoed across the valley. The creature banked and whirled, screaming its challenge to the now silent night… He felt Hulk stir sluggishly in answer to the challenge and shoved him tiredly back down. _Not now,_ he thought. _And most certainly __**not**__ against a dragon! _ Hulk grumbled but receded. Bruce watched the creature winging its way slowly, confidently, through the sky until it disappeared over the mountain tops. As the night sounds returned with the dragon's disappearance, he gave up his post; pulling the doors closed with a grunt of effort. _Hulk always makes this seem so easy._ He settled against the bottom step, dagger in hand; just in case. Within seconds he was asleep.

_On a distant mountaintop…_

_Great eyes opened slowly. He stretched, feeling the weight of ages in his tendons and muscles. Wings furled and unfurled as he rose from his slumber. Craning his neck, hearing the vertebrae creak and pop, he snapped his jaw in frustration. Age it seemed was catching up to him. Slowly he stepped down from the perch upon which he'd slept for so long; his weight making the stones under his feet crack and pop. __**Parthanax.**__ A distant voice called his name; __**Parthanax. **__Its insistent tug on his mind made his tail lash for a moment._

**_"I am here."_**_ He answered. _

**_"He has awoken." _**_The aged voice grew urgent. __**"It is time."**_

**_"You are surprised?" _**_Parthanax grumbled. He was hungry; the movement of a goat caught his attention. With a stiff pounce he snapped it up, looking for more. Deer in the valley… his wings beat the air, lofting him into the night sky. __**"You knew this day would come. You were warned…" **__The deer were slow and stupid, but they filled his belly nicely. The voice that had called him from slumber stayed silent while he sated his hunger. Returning to his perch on the lonely mountaintop, Parthanax fastidiously cleaned his talons._

**_"Will you help us?"_**_ The Greybeard asked._

**_"Why should I help you now?" _**_The great dragon's question was honest and sincere. __**"Had your kind listened this would not have happened."**_

**_"If you do not, then this world will perish."_**

_Parthanax yawned, already bored with the conversation. __**"It is your folly that brought this upon your world; I do not care to become involved. Let it burn." **__With that he closed his eyes, stretched out in the moonlight and went back to sleep._

**_***I always wondered what would happen if Parthanax decided to stay out of the whole thing. Guess I'll find out, won't I? As you can tell, I'm seriously _****not****_ going to follow the Skyrim story line. So, if that's what you are expecting then, you might want to find a different story to read. Shado.***_**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Let the Fun Begin...

Something moved in the night, a soft snuffle and a chuff, the scrape of claw against stone. His eyes snapped open, green depths peering up the stairs, one hand tightening on the dagger. Hulk listened. Banner slept deeply, exhausted; but Hulk didn't. He'd allowed his other persona to rest, while he kept watch. The scrape of claws against the old metal doors brought him to his feet. He gathered himself. There was a growl and with a slight shift in the wind he could smell the big cat. Silently, he changed; muscles growing rapidly, body expanding. His hand clenched the dagger, the metal warm and unyielding. Hulk moved up the stairs with a grace that was surprising, dark green eyes narrowed, mouth in an equally tight line. As he reached the antechamber, he could see the cat's paw digging at the doors. He crouched low, moving stealthily toward the would-be intruder. Just as he was about to grab for the paw and drag the creature in; the paw retreated and with a disappointed chuff, the cat left.

He scowled at the door, disappointment roiling in his chest. He really had wanted a fight. But it was not to be; he dare not follow the cat into the night, as satisfying as it would be. That would leave his Pretty Bird alone, something he would not do. He returned to his post by the bottom of the steps. In the dying light of the fire, he could see that she still slept. The night air had grown slightly chill and as he watched she shivered slightly. Concern lit his eyes and he carefully tucked the dagger away, moving to her side. Without a moment's hesitation, he scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest to keep her from the chill. She sighed softly, relaxing into his arms and snuggling her face into his neck.

"Pretty Bird," he whispered softly. He sat back against the wall, facing the stairs to continue his watch, Pretty Bird safe and warm. The movement woke her partially.

"Hulk?" she whispered groggily. "Wha-?"

"Pretty Bird, sleep now." He whisper/growled. "Pretty Bird, safe. Hulk watch." She blinked at him then nodded, eyes closing obediently.

The merry sound of birds greeting the dawn pierced her mind like daggers. She frowned fighting the fog of deep sleep. She was warm and comfortable and really didn't want to wake up. Waking up meant facing another day; and she really hated mornings. But the birds wouldn't cooperate, their songs insisting that she listen. _God, that must have been some party,_ she thought one hand wiping sleep from her face. _That's the last time I ever…_ The fog cleared abruptly, everything rushing back. Her eyes jolted open with the memories return; the storm, Doc in the co-pilot's jumpseat, making it through… her last memory was white hot pain and screaming for Doc to jump ship…

The ceiling above her was stone, cracked and aged. The pillow under her moved, the soft rhythmic breathing of someone… Slowly she turned her head, eyes widening at the Doc's sleeping face. She was in his arms, held against his chest. _Oh, boy_. Too her embarrassment, his eyes opened, meeting hers.

"Well this is awkward," she whispered, flushing red. She pushed against the arm holding her in place, wanting to move. He tightened it for a moment then let her go.

"Good morning to you too Violet," he said as she scrambled off his lap. She gained her feet, swaying slightly. "Take it easy," he reached for her. "You're still recovering." As her face paled even further, he stood, taking her arm to guide her to the step. "Sit down, before you fall over." He squatted beside her, eyeing her critically. She glared at him, wishing that for once, her fair skin didn't show blushes quite so easily. He smiled at her glare. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Easy, Doc. The storm and the thing that blew us up." He nodded. "Speaking of which, I distinctly remember telling you to get out, not to come after me." It was his turn to blush, he ducked his head.

"Evidently Hulk had other ideas."

Violet let the comment pass, looking around their "abode". "Um, Doc?" she said finally realizing how he was dressed and where they were. "Something you wanna share?"

He sighed and sat on the step next to her, one hand rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Just promise me you won't…" he shrugged, "I don't know… freak out?" She cocked an eye at him and gave a cautious nod. "Well..."

"So, another world?" she said softly after he finished. She was taking this amazingly well enough; her face was calm as were her eyes. He nodded. "And you think you saw a dragon?"

"I know I saw a dragon." He stated simply. She stared at him for a long moment and then tossed her head back laughing.

"Doc, seriously?" she lifted her leg. "Wanna pull this one while you are at it?" When his seriousness didn't dissipate, her laughter died away. "You're serious." He didn't answer. "Fuck me running." She whispered. She stood, swaying again but steadied herself with a hand on the wall. "I mean, I've heard about Asgard, you sure this …."

"Positive." He let her process keeping a close eye on her face. The air was still except for the sounds of the birds outside and the distant wind that seemed to never stop.

"So, now what?" she said finally.

"Well, we need to find civilization and then figure out where we are and how to get home." The look she gave him said, duh. He grinned. "You going Stark on me, Violet?" She frowned for a moment then smiled slightly shaking her head. "I found some coins of some sort, so once we find a town, we should be able to get some supplies." He stood. "As for the rest? We'll just have to wing it I suppose." About that time her stomach rumbled.

"I've got some MREs in my bag," she said seeing it lying on the floor next to the remains of the fire. "Not exactly the best food in the world but it should work until we find better." She glanced at the remains of her flight suit. "I'll need to see about clothes too."

Breakfast was passable if not exactly the best. They ate in silence, both thinking of plans and options. Neither stated the possibility that was foremost in their minds; that they might not be able to find their way home. They packed up some of the things that Bruce had found the day before, fitting what they could into Violet's kit. She looked mournfully at her melted cell phone but cheered up when she discovered that her iPod had survived. Bruce made certain that the fire was completely dead and then led the way up the stairs. On the portico, Violet paused taking in the vista.

"Well, at least its got nice scenery," she muttered, turning to follow the Doc down the path. She didn't like the way Doc was fingering the dagger at his waist. She'd never known him to use weapons before, and for him to be this nervous? She kept her eyes on their surroundings. At the river's edge, the remains of the creature he'd told her about were scattered around; obviously something had found it edible. From the prints in the mud, Doc was right to be nervous. She emptied out her thermos, rinsed it in the water and refilled it while he kept watch. "So? Which way?" she said slinging her bag over her shoulder.

"Well, I'm no tracker, but all the prints seem to be heading that way." He said pointing to the left. "Left it is," she agreed. Setting off down the road in their chosen direction, they walked side by side. She let the silence rule for about an hour before she spoke again. "Um, Doc?"

"Yeah?"

"About laughing earlier? I'm sorry." She apologized softly.

"No big deal, I would have laughed too." He admitted with a shy grin. "And Violet?"

"Hm?"

"You can call me Bruce if you want."

"Only if you tell me one thing, Do-Bruce?" she said with a grin.

"Sure."

"Why do you keep picking the flowers?" She cackled as he paused in the act of plucking another bunch of them; his face going scarlet.

"I have no idea." He admitted sheepishly. "I can't seem to stop myself."

She was still giggling at his actions when they encountered their first sign of civilization. An overturned cart lay on the side of the road they walked. Several barrels were broken open, their contents spilled. There was no sign of the owner of the cart, nor the horse that had pulled it. From the way the road was torn up and the dried bloodstains, it was obvious that there had been a fight of some kind. They were pleased to see something that they recognized; apples and cabbages. Violet crowed softly and started gathering the apples, while Bruce poked around the cart. He found a satchel tucked under the seat and opened it. Inside were a couple more books, some more coins, dried flowers, a piece of desiccated animal and another dagger. He slung the satchel over his shoulder.

"Here, I'd feel better if you had this," he said softly handing her the dagger. She eyed it with minor trepidation.

"Honestly Do-Bruce, I'm better off without that thing. I sucked at hand to hand." She admitted.

"Still its better than nothing." He argued shaking the hilt at her. "Just…humor me ok?"

She sighed and took it from him. It was rather pretty, she decided as she looked it over. The bronze-ish material had an odd bluish glow in the sunlight and the weight of the thing wasn't that much. She toyed with it briefly as they headed off down the road.

"What else did you find?" she asked him after another few minutes. She really didn't like the quiet; it made her nervous.

"Not much, some books, more flowers…" he responded absently reaching for yet another bunch of flowers. She sighed, shaking her head. While Doc, _Bruce_, she corrected herself, wasn't always the greatest conversationalist, this absentminded silence was driving her batty. Just as she was about to say something, Bruce stopped in the road, his head cocked.

"Did you hear that?" he asked softly signaling for her to stop. Violet listened; there was a faint sound, a ringing of metal against metal. It was followed by something that could be voices… she nodded, hand falling on the dagger he'd given her.

"Voices, could be friend or foe; hard to tell." She said softly. He motioned for her to move off the road, while he did the same; she melted behind a tall pine, while he crouched behind the boulders along the mountainside. As the voices drew nearer, she waited heart thumping, mouth dry. She hadn't been kidding when she told Bruce that she sucked at hand to hand. She'd barely managed to pass the combat tests and _that_ she was certain; was because Barton had been tired of trying to coach her.

Their "company" appeared to be a troop of soldiers of some sort; their uniforms were faintly reminiscent of the Roman Praetorians; hardened leather under steel plate. They walked, not in formation, but in a line obviously certain of their authority. In their midst was a prisoner, wearing little more than a loincloth. They talked among themselves, softly, ignoring the prisoner except to push him along. She clutched the dagger to her chest, heart pounding with adrenaline. As the troop moved between them, she closed her eyes, praying silently that Bruce could hold Hulk in check.

Across the road, Bruce crouched behind the boulder, tense and waiting. He was also very concerned and had been since waking. For the first time since the Hulk's creation; the giant inside him was quiet, watchful and aware. Not raging for release, but quiescent. He'd woken long before Violet; the Hulk pulling him from his slumber with a rumbling command of _watch Pretty Bird; Hulk sleep_. He'd sat there for several hours, holding her against the chill, unwilling to move her. He could also remember how she'd ended up in his arms; another anomaly that he was trying to parse his way through.

Once they had started their journey toward civilization, he could feel Hulk stir; the buzz of his alter ego unmistakable. The rage was still there, would always be there. Now, however, instead of battering against his control, it lay not quite dormant, but more…contained. He could almost feel his monster… thinking, assessing their surroundings; things that Hulk was not known for. And frankly, it unsettled him.

The sight of the armed patrol, though, passing between him and Violet, brought Hulk wide awake. The pressure grew as Hulk snarled in his mind. Bruce could hear the thought process, loud and clear. _Pretty Bird, danger!_ The need to protect, to smash the threat, grew exponentially. When he heard her startled cry, the change was inevitable.


End file.
